Mornings and Evenings, Part Two
by organanation
Summary: Perry's take on Evening Della and Della's take on Morning Perry. Written by popular demand, a companion piece to Mornings and Evenings. Wall-to-wall fluff.
1. Evenings with Della

_AN: I'm an attention hog, which is why I'm back for the third time in a week with some PerryxDella! The first part of 'Mornings and Evenings', where we saw Perry's view of Morning Della and Della's view of Evening Perry, was such a hit that I decided to write more! Here's 'Evenings with Della' followed by 'Mornings with Perry'. Despite their similar titles, they _are_ different, I promise! Happy reading, and please leave me a review!_

It was partly his fault, Perry supposed, that Della was inclined to dozing. If he kept any semblance of normal hours, she could have some sort of reliable sleep schedule to stick to. Perry wasn't one who needed much sleep, but his Della needed her 40 winks.

It was how they'd originally began spending evenings together, and how evenings of dinner and quiet time had turned into nights with her in his arms.

Most evenings, the evenings that didn't keep them stuck at the office, they spent having dinner somewhere secluded, followed by a drive around the city, finishing on the couch with a book or television.

If the week had been busy, Della dropped off on his shoulder as they drove. When that happened, he'd drive to the park and sit contentedly watching the world go by as she slept, curled up under his arm. Children played on the playgrounds, lovers strolled hand-in-hand near the fountains, old men read the evening paper in the golden light of the evening, and Perry happily watched it all as Della slept.

During quiet weeks, she could usually keep her eyes open until they got back to the apartment. A few pages into her book, reclined against him with her feet propped against the other armrest, she'd nod off, her book falling onto her chest. Whether it was the ticking of the mantle clock, the soft hum of music from the radio, or merely the absence of ringing phones and buzzing intercoms, Perry didn't know. Perhaps it was the way he ran his fingers through her hair or the rise and fall of his chest beneath her head that did the trick. Whatever it was, it made Della sleep.

He'd wake her before she fell into too deep a sleep and send her shuffling off to brush her teeth as he locked up and turned out the lights. She'd be waiting for him in bed when he was finished with his nightly routine. If it wasn't too late, he'd bring his reading with him.

These moments were as precious as they were few and far between: tucked under the covers together in bed, him leaned against the quilted headboard and her pillowed against his chest. Della sleeping soundly, which he'd know by the slow rhythm of her breathing and measured, even way her back rose and fell beneath his hands where he held open his book.

In the warmer months, the window would be open slightly so they could listen to the muffled sounds of a never-slumbering city in the background. In cooler months, he'd still occasionally crack the window so that Della would snuggle in even closer, craving heat. Often, her cold nose would end up in the crook of his neck or her icy toes would seek refuge near his warmer feet.

He cherished moments like these as much as he did early mornings when she's turn over beside him and kiss his forehead at the abrupt clatter of the alarm clock. Late nights pursuing justice often kept them from quiet nights like these, but it was the promise of sinking into bed beside her that kept him going through long, dreary days.

Finally, when he could no longer keep his eyes open, he'd reach over to snap off the lamp on the bedside table. Della would stir against him and sit up, letting him scoot over to the cold side of the bed.

"Did you get much reading done?" she'd ask sleepily.

He'd murmur an answer as he drew her back in, ghosting kisses over her forehead and trailing down to her mouth.

Della would smile against his lips and yawn before falling back to sleep.

Evenings with Della-the purest reward he knew.


	2. Mornings with Perry

Regarding mornings, Perry was, in a word, grumpy.

When she first started working for him, before they began spending nights together, he'd usually have himself put together by the time they were both in the office, especially if Della had a hot cup of black coffee and a bright smile waiting for him as he walked in the door.

When she began waking up beside him, though...he could be decidedly _not_ put together moments after walking up. It always made her chuckle, how he'd beg her for just five more minutes of sleep. She'd go take a shower and come back with coffee. He'd begrudgingly sit up, hair mussed from sleep, and accept the mug. After a few sips of coffee, it would dawn on him that he should probably get out of bed, which he'd do as slowly as an old man with arthritis in every joint.

He always made her breakfast. It was his sweet way of saying 'I love you' when his mouth wasn't interested in forming words. While he was waiting for his turn in the bathroom, he'd make toast with jam. She'd come out after pulling the curlers from her hair and kiss him sweetly on the cheek. Usually, he was awake enough by then to kiss her back, or at least mumble a 'good morning, darling' before shuffling off to take a shower.

Another cup of coffee followed his shower while he dressed and she put on her makeup.

By then, he was ready to talk. They'd make plans for the evening, plans that half the time were cancelled because of what walked through the door of #904. Work, though, was something they didn't talk about-they had two lives together: one at home, where voices were soft and kisses happened often and without restraint, and the other at work, where affection was passed by the brushing of arms or through private smiles. There was enough time to talk about work when they got to the office.

Della liked to arrive before Perry, even if they drove together. He'd find someone to talk to in the parking structure or the lobby, and she'd go wait for him in the office. It gave her a moment to start more coffee-he'd definitely need another cup before too long-and contact the answering service. Gertie would get in about that time, too, and even though the receptionist probably saw right through the charade, they tried to keep their relationship secret.

Perry would come in eventually and wish her a good morning-the first time all day she'd believe he actually felt it _was _a good morning. More coffee, of course, and they'd get on with their day as Mr. Mason and his confidential secretary, Ms. Street. Clients would come in, or Paul, or Tragg, and bid them a 'good morning'.

And it was, because she woke up next to her grumpy Mr. Mason.

_AN: If you enjoyed part two of Mornings and Evenings, please let me know! You can find me on at the same pen name, Organanation, for lots more fun with these two, and I'd love to hear from you what you'd like to read!_


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